


As We Fall

by sharkle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-14
Updated: 2011-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-18 01:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 12,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkle/pseuds/sharkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because Harry and Ginny are always falling - but they always get back up. Seventeen unconnected one-shots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. tell the truth

**Sometimes when I say I'm fine, I want someone to look at me and say, 'Tell the truth.'**

The sun clashes with the mountains and creates the beginning of what is sure to be a blaze of bright oranges and pale purples and soft pinks, made even better by being turned upside-down in the glassy surface of the lake. Only a few feet away from the tallest peak, shaded by a stooping beech tree, she sits in between his legs, resting back against his chest. Hugging her tightly to him, it's perfect; it's perfect, for just this moment, and they can sit in it and believe that it always will be.

"You're amazing, you know that?" he says, breaking the silence; not too far away, a giant tentacle shatters the illusion reflected in the water. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Ginny remains quiet for some time before turning around to look at his face, her own cheeks slightly pink. She notices suddenly that he looks tired, and he has dark circles under his eyes, which are darkened, yet nearly glowing with intensity. They glitter in the golden light - glitter with worry, glitter with fear, glitter with sincerity.

"You had a nightmare." It isn't a question. "What about?"

Harry's mouth stays shut, but he searches her face, pulling her body still closer against his. He has to be sure the dream isn't real; that this is what's real, the two of them, because being with her is too good to be true.

"You didn't sleep at all last night," she guesses, half-prodding.

"I'm fine," he insists, in that quietly forceful way of his that tends to leave him abandoned.

Ginny's face shows no change. Their gazes connect for the briefest second - in that brief second, the world is gone; they are no longer on a mountaintop; any kind of surroundings vanish around them; sparks fly as an electric charge locks them together - and break just as quickly. Harry looks away, suddenly irritated with her concern.

"I don't want your pity," he snaps. It's a lesson he's had to learn in his cupboard.

"Then what do you want?" she asks, no exasperation in her voice or expression.

"Not much," he says honestly. Then, after some hesitation - and Ginny just knows he's going to say something that makes her heart wrench - he continues, "But sometimes when I say I'm fine, I - I want someone to look at me and say... and say, 'Tell the truth.'"

Ginny turns completely around, letting her hands come to rest on Harry's shoulders.

"Tell the truth."

Soft and pleading, it reaches into him and withdraws that terrible dream; that dream where she left him, left him, and she didn't come back. She ran into the black of the forest without looking over her shoulder, without waiting for him, to be swallowed whole by the darkness. And when he's done, he can say, "I'm fine," and she doesn't have to tell him to be truthful. She knows he's fine.

And when he's not, she'll always be there to make him fine again.


	2. the love of your life

**Having the love of your life break up with you and say, 'We can still be friends!' is like your dog dying and your mum saying, 'You can still keep it!'**

"All right," says Neville, not loudly, but everyone hears him. "Great... work."

Ginny snorts. "Nice choice of words," she mutters.

He ignores her. "Get back to your common rooms safely. Comfort the younger students if they need it. Be careful."

The D.A. murmurs its assent and begins to trickle out of the Room of Requirement, Ravenclaws leading the way. Luna, the last of them to leave, smiles and waves at Neville and Ginny before herding the rest of her house out. As they've been doing all year, the Gryffindors bring up the rear, maintaining the argument that if anyone should be caught (and, by association, punished) by the Carrows, it should be them - their housemate has a bounty on his head, not anyone else's.

Neville has almost slipped out the cracked door when he realizes Ginny isn't following him. He turns and sees that she has her eyes on Parvati; the latter is staring hard at the bulletin board on one of the walls. It's plastered with cutouts from the Daily Prophet, photos, letters, even some drawings Dean did two years ago for the original D.A.

As though she can sense that he's looking at her, Ginny says over her shoulder, "You go ahead, Neville. I'll be on in a minute."

Neville hesitates. Ginny inclines her head the slightest amount to the girl behind her.

"If you're sure," he says at last. At Ginny's nod, he offers her a fleeting smile and walks out.

Ginny comes to stand in front of the bulletin board just as Parvati adds another photo to it. The two of them look at it for a while.

"You and Padma?"

Parvati nods in a way that makes Ginny too uncomfortable to start a conversation. She lets her attention wander to other photographs - Harry, Ron, and Hermione; Dean and Seamus; Ernie, Hannah, and Justin; and (it makes her heart hurt in her chest) her and Harry. He's looking happier than she's almost ever seen him, his entire face lit up. She has her arms around his middle, her head on his shoulder, and she, too, is smiling. Every few seconds, she raises her head, and Harry presses a soft kiss to her lips. They break apart and, as one, sigh in contentment. She'd added that one, more as a reminder to herself than anyone else.

Ginny gazes steadily at it, then moves on the one immediately next to it. A red-haired woman and a black-haired man sit with their arms around each other, a similarly black-haired baby boy bouncing on the woman's lap. The two parents lean their heads together, looking down on their son with small smiles. He giggles, waves a chubby hand and grabs a fistful of his mother's hair, and with the other the bridge of his father's glasses. Laughing, both of them attempt to pry open his fingers; with some combined effort, they succeed, and the tiny family smiles at the camera: the man, with his easy-going, care-free grin; the woman, with electric green eyes that make Ginny's breath catch in her throat, because she's seen those eyes stare at her from out of the man's face for nearly six years; and the baby boy, with his parents, no lightning scar marring his smooth forehead.

Lily and James Potter, who gave their lives for their son, who faced death with their heads held high, who were barely five years older than her when they died... who were so unbelievably brave, and who she has so much to thank for... so thankful words can't express her gratitude...

"I don't know how you do it."

Ginny starts. She'd almost completely forgotten she isn't alone. She swallows and turns her head. "What do you mean?" she asks.

"Stay so strong," murmurs Parvati. "With your brother gone, and your best friend, and Harry" - Ginny registers that he is not given a title and his grateful, though she is not altogether sure why - "and having to deal with the Carrows and this, the D.A., and..." Parvati's eyes well up with tears. "Padma and I are in different houses, it's really hard to know what's going on... I can't stop worrying..."

"You think I can?" says Ginny before she can stop herself. "I've seen - and followed - them rush off to the Ministry to save a convicted murderer from Voldemort himself without a second thought for their lives, or the law. Harry killed a bloody basilisk with nothing but a sword. If he can do that so thoughtlessly... if he..."

Parvati bites her lip and nods. She pauses to choose her words, and then, finally, she says, "It must be so tough. I mean..." She casts around for a less blunt way to say it but comes up short. "Having the love of your life break up with you and say, 'We can still be friends' is like your dog dying and your mum saying, 'You can still keep it.' I just don't know how you live through that."

Ginny laughs bitterly, so full of hurt and anger and fear and _I don't care_ that she scares herself. "Harry never said anything about staying friends," she says, "and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. It means he might... he thinks he'll..."

That word, that tiny little word, has never gotten stuck in her throat before. She knows the possibility - Cedric was more than enough to prove the point. It scares her sometimes how carelessly they throw the word about, talking about the _death toll_ and _no, he's dead_ and _we're going to die_ like it's completely normal - but when she thinks about it, she realizes that no normal teenager should have to consider what they would do if a family member was bleeding on the floor. Even so, the possibility of Harry... of Harry...

Her throat suddenly very dry, Ginny doesn't allow herself to meet the older girl's eyes. Parvati has already gone back to the photo of her and her sister.

"C'mon," she mutters, and turns. Ginny tears herself away from the Potters - the Potters, together, happy; not dead - lets her gaze linger on the photo of her and Harry, and of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and quickly follows suit.


	3. everything happens for a reason

**Everything happens for a reason.**

Still beaming, hearts still racing, lips still tingling, Harry and Ginny hop out of the portrait hole. Beginning ( _something new_ ) to walk down the corridor, neither can stop smiling their maniac smile, and keep casting sideways looks at the other when they think they aren't looking. Once or twice, Harry opens his mouth, then closes it again, his smile even odder than Ginny's. Both are oblivious to the Fat Lady's own grin as she swings shut once more, sealing ( _their promise_ ) the rest of the cheering, catcalling, wolf-whistling Gryffindors inside.

"The lake?" Harry suggests as they turn a corner ( _the first of many_ ), his hand, of its own accord, reaching up to the back of his head to muss up the hair there. Ginny looks at him a moment, catches the gesture, and nods.

Down the various staircases they go, passing portraits that give them annoyingly knowing glances, ghosts that merely drift past, and only a few other students who offer them nothing more than raised eyebrows. They're almost to the entrance hall when Harry acts on impulse takes Ginny's hand ( _hold me tight_ ): She gently squeezes his fingers.

There's a cool breeze in the air outside - it contrasts greatly with the day's humidity, sending waves rolling across the surface of the lake. The giant squid's tentacles peek out from the shadows. Birds chirp happily.

Harry leads Ginny to the Marauders' beech tree, somehow feeling it appropriate. He leans himself casually, if slightly tensely, against the trunk. Ginny releases her hand from his grasp ( _don't let me go_ ) and walks a small distance away from him, looking out over the glimmering water.

Finally, tired of feeling his gaze on the back of her neck, she says bluntly, not sounding the least bit surprised, "You kissed me."

Harry rumples his hair again. "I suppose I did," he says.

Ginny turns to face him. "Any particular reason?"

He chuckles, coming up behind her just as she turns back. "Does this answer your question?" he murmurs in her ear, bending ( _backwards for her_ ) down to reach.

She spins around. She barely has time to gasp at their sudden proximity before Harry captures her lips with his. Mind blissfully blank, she's only just relaxed into the kiss when he pulls away. She blinks a few times, trying to regain her vision.

"Yeah," she mutters dazedly, "it does." Then she smiles. "You have something to ask me, Potter?"

Harry grins. "Sure, Weasley," he says easily, even as he feels frogs start a party in his stomach. He runs yet another hand through his hair. "Will you go out with me?"

Ginny takes a step closer to ( _what she's always dreamed of_ ) him, puts her hands on his shoulders. Goosebumps erupt down his back and arms. "I would be honored, Mr. Chosen One."

And, as she stretches on tiptoe just the tiniest bit, he lowers his head, and they ( _create a bond_ ) kiss.

They break apart ( _it'll break their hearts_ ). Ginny wraps her arms tentatively around Harry's middle; he responds by equally as nervously hugging her to him. She laughs softly.

"How did this happen?" she mutters, more to herself than Harry.

He smiles. "Does it really matter?" he says quietly. She looks up, an eyebrow cocked, which he takes to mean yes ( _it's not the right question_ ), and he chuckles. "Well, let's put it this way: everything happens for a reason. That's all that matters."

Ginny sighs in contentment, letting her head fall back against his chest. Neither can help wondering what exactly the reason for them is ( _love_ ) - or if they even need one.


	4. i hate

**I hate every day that passes and I haven't seen you.**

His room his dark on a new moon night; even the street lamps outside seem dimmer than usual. He leans against the side of his bed, legs stretched out and falling asleep across the floor. The photo album rests beside him, the occupants captured in their various moments and places, laughing, hugging, dancing, sitting. Their faces are lit up and shadowed and everything in between, and seeing all of them makes tears sting at the backs of his eyes; but no, he won't cry, he won't, he _doesn't_. He's not allowed to cry.

Harry flips the page, turning the three of them over, and lands on another, near-empty. A single photo resides here, a photo of he and Ginny on the sunlit grounds. It feels like an eternity ago.

His finger slides over her flushed face, her windswept hair.

"I hate this," he whispers, and hates himself a little bit for it: He'd promised himself not to truly hate anything, and he just broke that promise (although it's not the first time he's let someone down), and he crumbles a little on the inside.

"I hate this... the war. I hate that people are dying. I hate Snape for - for murdering Dumbledore. I hate that Dumbledore's..." It's stuck in his throat: gone. "He can't help me anymore. I - I need him to help me. I can't do this on my own."

The previous photo flashes before his eyes.

"And I hate Ron and Hermione for being so damn stubborn. If they... if they..." The possibility is too horrific to even imagine, so he skips over the word, replacing it with a deep, steadying breath. "I'm going to have to lead them into danger. I don't want to do that. I don't want to be a murderer," he tells her, desperate for her to understand, to forgive him, in the end. To forgive him for everything.

"I hate myself for breaking up with you. You're one of the best things that's ever happened to me. And I suppose that's why I had to do it... I think - I think I might love you. That scares me. I've never really loved anyone before... Well, except Sirius, but -"

You never told him, mocks the voice of cruelty, taunting him, driving a knife through his heart and twisting, twisting. He never knew, and now he's gone. He's dead, and it's all - your - fault.

Harry swallows hard, forcing the tears into submission, and the burning in his throat suddenly ignites into anger, frustration.

"I hate you for making me feel like this. When I'm with you... I'm a different person. I can't be a different person now. I have to be Harry Potter. I have to be strong. You... you're too close to me. If he takes you, if he tortures you, because of me... if he... if you..."

The harsh tone fades away into the darkness.

He slams his eyes shut and chokes, "I won't be held responsible for my actions." He pauses and then goes on, "I hate that I won't be there with you to protect you from whatever Death Eaters and curses that might be waiting. I hate... I hate every day that passes and I haven't seen you. I hate that I can't be with you - not necessarily together, just... with you. I hate that I don't know what you're doing, how you're feeling. If you're... handling this. If you're going to be okay. I hate that I... I hate that I..."

He draws a rattling breath, begging her to understand, so he won't have to say it aloud, make it rock-solid - but he knows she can't hear him, isn't really listening to what he's saying, trying to say, so he has to.

"I hate... that I might have to leave you. Forever."

It's said in the quietest of whispers. His fingertips lift from the picture as he, smiling, plants a kiss behind her ear.

"I'm sorry."


	5. his eyes sparkle

**Ask anyone. When her name comes into a conversation, his eyes sparkle.**

"I just don't get it," says Ron, watching from Gryffindor Tower as Harry and Ginny begin to walk out onto the grounds. "Everything's normal and then -" He gestures extravagantly with his hands.

"Honestly, Ron," says Hermione; even concentrated on the window, he can see her eyes roll. "Are you really that thick?"

"What?" he says defensively.

She sighs, exasperated. Hardly looking up from her essay, she says, "The way he looks at her - I can't believe you've never noticed it."

"What way?" Ron demands.

Still writing, still scribbling away. Instead of answering directly, Hermione goes on, "He thought no one else was looking, every time, but I saw him. He's almost as oblivious as you are." Ignoring his indignation, "But then, after all he's been through, I don't exactly blame him. Oh, stop frowning at them, Ron."

He realizes for the first time that he's scowling. Lessening the glower, he says, "I still don't know what you're getting at."

Hermione dots a period at the end of a sentence, finally looks up at him. "Ask anyone," she says. "When her name comes into a conversation, his eyes sparkle."

Ron is silent. The quill's scratching resumes.

"It's getting dark," he mutters at last. The scratching pauses.

"They won't do anything. Have some faith in them, why don't you?"

He takes it as a dismissal and turns his back on the window: By now they're long out of his sight. Stuffing his hands hard into his pockets, he makes for the portrait hole, ready to wander the halls.

He has to choose.

His sister, or his best friend?

(Their happiness, or his own?)

He's heading for the kitchens before he notices where his feet are taking him, along the all-too-familiar path, and although the thought of food is pleasing, his fingers barely brush the pear. Apparently, it's more ticklish than he'd thought, because it giggles and swings open without protest. He steps inside.

A house-elf with floppy ears trots up to him. "Hello, sir!" she squeaks. "What would sir like to eat this fine evening?"

Ron's appetite, however, leaves him as quickly as it came.

Of course, he thinks. Just my luck.

Harry and Ginny are standing on opposite sides of the room, almost unrecognizable under all the food mess they've created, more ammunition in their hands. Harry looks very much like he's had an egg cracked over the top of his head, glasses white with flour; Ginny's hair is full of what seems to be ice cream sundae, complete with chocolate sauce, nuts, and a cherry or two. They're laughing and dodging other deadly projectiles, a few house-elves cleaning up as they go, others supplying them with more food, still others watching and cheering - but when Ron enters, they freeze, Harry in mid-throw. A handful of mashed potatoes sails past Ginny's ear and hits the wall, where a house-elf scurries over to wipe it away.

"Oh," says Ginny, lowering her arm. "Hi, Ron."

"It's, er," Harry stammers, with a lightning-quick glance at his girlfriend, "not what it looks like?"

Even as they say it, even as they try to look ashamed, they're suppressing smiles. They drop anything they were holding before he walked in and move to the middle of the room so they can let the elves really start mopping everything up.

Ron knows they make it discreet, but they grasp hands when they come to each other's side, exchanging fleeting grins a mile wide. His heart skips half a beat: He can't remember the last time Harry smiled like that. He nearly wants to fall over from the shock, not only from the thing itself, but that he can't remember. And now, he's with Ginny, they're holding hands, and he looks really, truly happy for the first time in a long time. His eyes are more shockingly green than ever.

Folding his arms across his chest, Ron manages to fix annoyance on his face. There's a slightly tense moment before he says, "What the bloody hell are you doing?"

Something like fear flashes through Harry, Ron can see it, and he can see Ginny squeeze his hand to calm him down. He pushes back the impulse to smile.

Another minute in which they squirm, then -

"You're wasting all that good food!"

Their shoulders visibly relax. Letting the grin slide into place, he pushes past them, grabs the two nearest pieces of cake, and turns back to them.

"Besides" - he smirks - "you're doing it all wrong."

And he smashes the cake into their faces.

They only blink. Then, very slowly, Ginny wipes the chocolate frosting from her eyes and says, "This means war, big brother."

In the scramble for new supplies, Ron's sure Harry mouths a thank-you.

And maybe he doesn't have to choose, after all.


	6. i don't know what to do

**I get shy around you. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do.**

The low flames crackle as his hand moves across the page, sitting forward on the couch and writing against the Half-Blood Prince's book (and he had woken up and grabbed the nearest one; he does not sleep with it). He's hesitating here and there, leaning over to a side table to re-ink his quill, tapping it on the parchment. No one is around to see him: It is so late that the sky outside is already beginning to lighten.

But Harry cannot deny that his heart is still pounding, and despite the fact that it's undoubtedly reassuring, that it is pounding, he can't help but feel as though another Killing Curse might come whooshing toward him from the flickering shadows the fire casts...

He takes a moment to sit back, suck in a breath, and let it out.

 _No_ , he tells himself. _You're not afraid to die. You're a hero, you're the Chosen One. You are not afraid to die._

Sometimes, he thinks he's afraid to die.

Another pause, he scribbles for a few seconds, and then he's done. He looks over what he's written.

 _Ginny,_

 _I wish I was brave enough to say everything you're about to read to your face, but I'm not._

 _So. Here it goes. I'll come right out and say it._

 _I fancy you._

 _I do. You're funny and smart and charming and beautiful, and that doesn't even begin to describe all the other words that come to mind when I think of you - and I kind of think of you a lot. And that's not even really it - you accept me for me, not for Harry Potter. Just Harry. That means a lot to me._

 _You - you're not like other girls. I'm not sure how, but you're different. Maybe it's just your hair._

 _I know, I'm not funny. Not like you, anyway._

 _You're different because... well, you just are. You make me feel like... I don't even know. Like everything's going to be okay even though Voldemort gets stronger every day. Like lightning-shaped scars never existed. Like you're a lot more than Ron's little sister._

 _Do you even notice the effect you have on me? Because you have one, it's there. I wonder if you see it. I get shy around you. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do._

 _And you're driving me barmy._

 _But I'll live._

 _I think I might be seeing things, but - do you sneak glances at me when you think I'm not looking? Did you lie when you said you weren't interested in me anymore?_

 _It's okay. I do it, too._

 _And if you're interested?_

 _Well..._

 _So am I._

 _Harry_

He stares at the letter for a full minute before he sighs. Crumpling it up, he tosses it into the grate.

The fire rears up, fueled by the new burning material. The flames merely lick at the edges of the parchment at first; then it starts being devoured, curling in on itself, burned black, the fire making a trail all the way across it. Words are eaten away and away until at last it crumbles to ash.

"Letter number fourteen," murmurs Harry.

He stands and disappears up the staircase to the boys' dormitories.


	7. fight fate

**You can't fight fate. Whatever happens, happens.**

The Astronomy Tower is silent beneath the velvet sky, where Harry and Ginny stand, leaning on the battlements, looking out over the sleeping grounds. A wind sweeps through the air, high, high above the grass, so close to the stars overhead but so far.

"I'm scared, Harry," Ginny confesses softly.

He looks at her, and she him. His eyes search her face. He sighs, throws his head back to the moon.

"I know," he says. Then, a little hesitantly, "So am I."

Ginny exhales, shifting closer to him. Without thought, he puts his arm around her, instinctively pulling her against his side. "I'm scared of the war," she says, so quietly it's amplified in the silence. "I - I don't want to die. I don't want other people to die. I feel so powerless."

Harry finds he can't force himself to meet her gaze. "I want to be fighting," he says. "When Dumbledore finishes teaching me ab - all of it..." He swallows. "I'm going to leave next year, I think. Act. Maybe join the Order. I'll be seventeen then, an adult. I can't... I can't sit around while innocent people are being murdered."

Ginny's grip on his arm is suddenly vice-like. "Would you stay for me?" she asks softly. He only blinks and still won't face her. "Answer me, Harry!"

She puts a gentle hand on his cheek and forcefully turns his head. Her voice and her eyes are so desperate that it hurts, a pain deep in his chest that throbs every time he takes a breath.

He simply can't bear to see her face, and again focuses on the sky. A breeze combs through his hair like her fingers, unclogging the lump from his throat.

"Yes," he says quietly, and the wound sears at her hopeful expression. "I would." His chest constricts as it comes out of his mouth and nearly implodes as he adds, "But I can't." Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her face crumple, and he thinks that maybe she's trying not to cry. "I have to fight." He takes her hand; she grips his fast, as though if she lets go, he'll topple over the edge of the tower - as though it'll keep him from leaving. "I have to fight for you." Finally, finally, he returns to earth to stare at her. "I'll always fight for you."

Ginny rubs her thumb across his knuckles. She looks out over the grounds again, and he mimics her. This is all they have to lose: the freedom. The beauty of the land. None of it looks as magnificent in a Dark world as it does in the sunlight.

"How is it going to end?" she asks the horizon, but Harry knows she's addressing him. "What's going to happen?"

"I don't know," he says after a moment. The prophecy comes bubbling to the surface of his mind, the thing that locks him in the thick of the war. "You can't fight fate. Whatever happens, happens."

 _...and either must die at the hand of the other..._

And then, so low Ginny can't hear, "I'm not a murderer."


	8. i'll be there

**He's so scared of getting close to anyone because everyone who said, 'I'll be there,' left.**

The occasional rustling of pages is all that is heard in the almost-empty library; Ginny feigns studying so that Hermione, across the table from her, has no reason to deliver another lecture on how important O.W.L.s are. Her chin resting in her hand, she notices Hermione look up from the book in which she's been searching for something to help Ginny with McGonagall's essay.

"Give it a rest, Hermione," says Ginny wearily, before Hermione can start her rant. "I know, I know, I need to do my best on this, blah, blah, blah."

Hermione casts her an annoyed look, lips pursed, brow furrowed. "That's not what I was going to say," she tells her, sounding slightly hurt.

Ginny releases a breath. "Sorry," she says. "I think you've finally gotten to me."

Hermione does not smile, but she snaps her book shut and slides it aside. Ginny, recognizing the movement, mimics her and sits expectantly, waiting.

"You're lucky," says Hermione bluntly.

There's a moment of silence before Ginny says sarcastically, "And that's not vague at all."

Hermione continues to stare unfalteringly. In half question, half statement, she says, "Harry trusts you, doesn't he?"

"Just cut to the chase."

In a softer, quieter voice, Hermione obliges. "In almost six years of knowing him," she says, "Harry's never told Ron or I about his nightmares. You two have barely been dating a week and he tells you everything."

"So?" says Ginny, although there's an odd catch in the sixth year's voice that implies something bigger behind the words. "We're close. Is that a problem?"

"No," says Hermione hurriedly, "not at all. I think it's great that Harry trusts you so much. Only... in case you haven't noticed... it's hard to earn his trust."

Finally breaking, Ginny lets her eyes slide shut. "I know," she mutters in a low voice, with a heaviness too old for her age. "I wish I could understand it."

"It's simple," says Hermione grimly. "He's just... he's so scared of getting close to anyone because everyone who said, 'I'll be there,' left."

In the pause that ensues, a laugh like a bark echoes in their ears, reopening old wounds. Both girls are silent as they mourn - not only Sirius, but also the Harry who still retained some of his innocence. After a while, Ginny looks up from her blind contemplation of the tabletop, her face set with determination.

"I _will_ be there," she says, so firm she almost surprises herself. "I'm never going to leave."

And, more to escape Hermione's knowing gaze and small smile more than anything else, she pulls her book back toward her and stares hard a random page, promising herself she'll make that statement come true.


	9. lose that person

**And once you lose yourself, you have two choices: find the person you used to be or lose that person completely.**

Seizing her chance, Ginny leaps out from the corner and grabs her friend by the shoulders, pulling her behind the nearest tapestry.

"Luna," she says urgently, "help me."

Luna shifts her bag on her shoulder, looking nothing more than mildly interested. "With what?" she asks in her dreamy voice.

Ginny starts pacing back and forth as much as she can manage in the small space, repeatedly running her hands through her hair. Every few circuits she pauses, looks up at the Ravenclaw, mouth open, then closes it, shakes her head, and resumes.

"I can't stop thinking about him," she says at last, very quick and very quiet. "I'm even having dreams about - him." She ignores her almost-slip - she has to remind herself that there isn't an us anymore - and pushes on, now standing still. "Every time I think he's out of my head, his face pops up again. It's driving me mad."

Luna leans idly against the wall. "Just to be clear," she says, "we're talking about Harry, aren't we?"

Ginny tries for a glare but doesn't reply: the answer is written all over her face.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?"

Ginny opens her mouth; closes it; her face falls; she slides down the stone wall and onto the equally as stone floor, hugging her knees to her chest by habit.

"I don't know, Luna," she says, a note of desperation in her voice now. "That's the problem. Give me one of your insightful comments, slap me, hex me - something."

Luna smiles a little. Ruefully rubbing the cut under her eye, she says, "I'd rather save it for the D.A. meetings, Ginny."

Ginny closes her eyes and breathes in deeply. "I feel so lost," she mutters.

Luna's smile widens. She walks closer to Ginny so that she's standing in front of her. Ginny raises her head as she hears footsteps.

"That's what we needed to get to," Luna tells her.

She stares. "What?"

"You've lost yourself," Luna says simply. "And once you lose yourself, you have two choices: find the person you used to be or lose that person completely." She offers a hand. "Come on. We need to get to Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall probably won't be too happy with us if we're late."

Ginny does not accept the hand up but instead bites her lip, focusing on her knees.

 _I'm lost_. The thought is ringing louder than any other in her mind, louder than _Harry_ and _We can't be together_ and _There's the silver lining_ and everything else. _I'm lost._

She thinks she might have a vague idea of where she is, although where exactly she doesn't know. All she knows is who she might be with - not what he's doing or when he'll come back or if he'll come back at all - except she really doesn't want to think about that last one, or its implications.

She's aware of the fact that she's been acting oddly this year, always a hard look in her eyes and her chin held high in the hallways, yet another sign of defiance against the Carrows. But at the end of the day, when she's lying awake in her bed, unable to sleep for the nightmares, she's putting all her energy into not crying; being strong for Harry. It's not like last year - snogging her boyfriend and training for Quidditch and dealing with the war going on _outside_ the walls of Hogwarts.

Only now she's trapped right in the middle of the war that's somehow infiltrated the castle walls, the Slytherins' mutters of, "Harry Potter is dead" the bars of her prison. The person she used to be - that Ginny was free. That Ginny wasn't lost.

Steeling herself and trying to calm the erratic pounding of her heart, the Ginny in the corridor realizes what she has to do. With a brief sigh, she reaches up to take Luna's hand so she can pull her to her feet. The two take care to be sure no one is watching as they duck out of the tapestry's hidden passage and hurry down the hall to the temporary sanctuary of the Head of Gryffindor's classroom.

She'll be strong for him. She'll hold him if he needs to be held; leave him if he needs to be left. She'll do it, if it's what he deserves - even if it's a funeral fit for a king.

She just hopes that isn't necessary.


	10. forced to stand alone

**When you're forced to stand alone, you realize what you have in you.**

"I'm pregnant," Ginny says, and there's a freezing second of silence before Harry beams, the heat from his smile so intense it melts away the ice in the room, and he kisses her and hugs her and holds onto her for all that he's worth, wanting to never let go.

Yet he feels her slipping away, his grip slackening even as he tries to tighten it, until he's grasping at empty air; her shadow subsides into the darkness about him in the cold cupboard, and his loneliness is nearly tangible when the door is unlocked and opened, letting light pour in. Just as warmth hits his face, it is blocked, a figure moving to stand in front of the source; his own hand reaches in and grabs him by the back of his shirt collar, drags him out, half by force, half by those burning green eyes, glaring at him with uncensored hatred.

"Breakfast, boy," snarls Vernon's voice, and beyond him - beyond himself - Ginny is sitting at the kitchen table, her lips pursed like Aunt Petunia as she pursues Witch Weekly (as she pursues I-Want-To-Be-A-Witch Weekly). His throat is on fire and his scar is on fire, and although he's almost blinded by the pain, he can turn and see an infant lying on the hard floor of the cupboard, its tiny little pink face screwed up, wailing as though it's being tortured.

His uncle's - his - hand is still pulling; he can't breathe and he's choking, he's gasping, he's retching - he's dying, he's dying, he's dying... He's dying, and the baby's screams are his screams and they're all he can hear...

Sweet air fills Harry's lungs as he jerks upward, cold sweat beading his forehead and the back of his neck. The mattress reacts to his sudden movement by jostling itself just enough to wake Ginny: She immediately sits up, not as abruptly as he did, concern written on the fragments of her face illuminated by the moonlight that slinks through the window.

"Harry?" she whispers, though of course they're alone (of course they won't be alone anymore). "What is it?"

Her voice, even scratchy from sleep, is enough to catch Harry and pull him back down to their bedroom. He waits a few moments, lets his breathing slow back to normal - bed and sheets and pillow and safe, his nerve endings reassure him, and he feels all his muscles relax unconsciously before he turns to look at his wife. He takes her hand in his, and it's so absolutely there that he tries for a smile (that he forces a smile).

"We're having a baby," he says, the words a foreign language on his tongue.

In the dark, he can still see Ginny's genuine smile.

"Yes, Harry," she confirms. Almost without thought she rests her free hand on her stomach. "We're having a baby."

"I'm going to be a dad," says Harry, trying the concept out another time, and he covers her hand.

Ginny nods, the smile still present. "You're going to be a dad," she repeats.

Harry draws in a great breath and releases a trembling one. He nods to himself a few times, sinks back down onto his pillow. Ginny follows him, eyeing his creased brow worriedly.

"Harry, what was your nightmare about?" she presses.

He looks into her eyes and knows, knows he can't lie (knows he won't lie). He'll never keep anything from her ever again, not after this. Not after all she's given him.

He sighs again and she lays a hand on his cheek. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes: It all gets stuck somewhere in his throat. He closes it again and bites his lip.

"Harry?" says Ginny once more.

And it all comes tumbling out, an avalanche of bleak memories that have been pooling at the top of a mountain of bad recollections; they rush down and come to collect in the corner of the room most shrouded in night. Dursley, the mountain echoes the call that started it, Dursley, Dursley. He leaves Dudley out of it as much as he can manage, although it's not easy - his massive fist has hammered too hard to ignore. Still, Harry forgives him. It's not easy to break away from what you've been taught your whole life - Harry knows from experience.

Finally, he reaches their departure and the avalanche ceases, leaving a silence that rings with what's been said.

"A cupboard?" Ginny repeats for the umpteenth time, anger buried beneath the rubble of disbelief.

For the umpteenth time, Harry nods, not trusting himself to speak any further.

"Bars on your window?"

Another nod. "I thought one of them told you," he mutters without emotion.

She shakes her head. "I think they noticed you were uncomfortable" - with stress on the word - "with anyone knowing."

After a moment, he says, "Please don't tell anyone."

"Of course not."

"Promise?"

She pecks him on the lips. "I promise," which she doesn't really need to say after the kiss.

Harry sighs yet again, rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, wondering what life would be like without the Dursleys (what life would be like without Voldemort). There's another stretch of silence of such length that he thinks Ginny's gone back to sleep: He moves back to his side and buries his face in her hair, inhaling her scent.

"How did you do it?" she asks suddenly, surprising Harry.

"Hm?" he mumbles into the back of her neck.

"How did you... stay strong?"

He pauses to think it over.

"When you're forced to stand alone," he says slowly, the words muffled, "you realize what you have in you."

Ginny turns so that she's facing him and presses her forehead against his. "You'll be a great dad." He smiles and kisses the tips of her fingers. "You're not Vernon."

"Thank you," he says earnestly. "You'll be a great mum, better than yours."

She laughs, a little nervously. "If you say so."

Harry's smile widens. He kisses her one more time and she rolls back over. "We'll be okay," he reassures her.

And he knows they will be, because "You're not Vernon" is hanging in the air, and for the first time, he believes it. They'll be okay.

(He'll be okay.)


	11. fall down

**Even the best fall down sometimes.**

Harry shuffles down the corridor, ignoring the Fat Lady's squawks of protest ("You need bed rest!") as best as he can manage in the silence and with nothing to distract him - from her, from the day's horror, from the wreckage. His home has been blasted apart, blood stains the floor and walls, the ghosts of all who have died will forever haunt the castle, even if they have passed on. It's destroyed, it's rubble, it's gone, gone, gone, and there's nothing he can do to bring it all back.

"Gone," he mumbles to himself, "they're all gone." Remus and Tonks and Fred and Colin are staring back at him, their faces white, their gazes blank, lifeless. Out of the corners of his eyes, he can see them, just on the edge of his vision - on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump and fall, fall away from him, fall away from the world forever.

The hall stretched out in front of him seems endless; his sight is going blurry and he wonders why the walls are spinning like the Department of Mysteries - and there's Sirius, dangling by his chained wrists in one of the portraits, in his robes from Azkaban - and his parents are there, too, James' face mirroring the same determination he had while facing Voldemort, Lily's terror for her life and her son's - and they're spinning, spinning, spinning, with all the dead from the Great Hall, rows upon rows of bodies and it's over, over, over.

Harry's legs nearly collapse from under him as he rounds a corner at precisely the same time at the other end of the corridor. His response is instantaneous: He wipes furiously at his eyes, berating himself for letting any tears slip out; straightens his back; tries to force his strides to be purposeful. No one will want to see their hero showing weakness.

But then there's a mane of red hair and he immediately relaxes, because he knows he doesn't have to be strong for her; knows she won't fall for it. And although those brown eyes are narrowed and scrutinizing, he's never been happier to have her glare at him in his entire life.

They both freeze, just long enough for her glower to disappear and for his facial features to straighten themselves into something akin to disbelief - then it's long strides and nothing standing between them and holding onto each other for dear life as they meet with great gasps of breath, and Ginny starts to cry when Harry takes her into his arms, her entire body wracking with sobs. He can feel her tears soaking through his shirt and he can feel her gripping it in her fists - but he can _feel_ her, she's absolutely and irrevocably _here_ , and his shoulders start to shake a bit, too, but Ginny takes no note of this. She only clutches tighter to him, and he can hear her whisper, "You're here, you're here," as though she's stealing his thoughts and putting them out for the world to hear - but their world is just the two of them, and she can steal anything of his after she's stolen his heart.

"I'm here, I'm here," he murmurs into the top of her head, hardly able to fathom it himself, "I'm here."

Harry tumbles to his knees and Ginny tumbles down with him, pressing her face still deeper into his chest; he strokes her hair, matted with dirt and blood, even as a stray sob or two escapes him, until he's crying, too - he's crying, crying, crying as he's never cried before, crying for all he's lost, all that's happened to him, everyone who died fighting for him, tears streaking through the thin layer of grime still left on his face and leaving long lines down his cheeks. It all pours out, thousands of words unspoken, good-bye and thank you and I'm sorry to all of the fighters, wishing he had the chance to actually tell them.

They're still weeping even as Ginny threads her slender fingers into Harry's gnarled, knotted mop; he buries his face in the crook of her neck and holds her as tightly to him as he can, his fingers digging into her back.

"They fell," he rasps. "They jumped."

Ginny nods as though she knows exactly what he's talking about, sobs becoming less but tears still flowing freely. It seems like years before they stop altogether, Harry's along with hers, and they sink to the floor and rest against the part of the wall that isn't in pieces.

"They fell," he repeats in a rough whisper. A plethora of emotions dance in his eyes: grief, shame, anger, horror, slight fear, something that could best be described as missing.

In the time Ginny takes to formulate a response, his hair is combed through and nearly back to normal messiness. Finally, she murmurs, "Even the best fall down sometimes, Harry." She lifts his chin with two fingers, making him look right into her eyes. Immediately, the lost in his becomes less pronounced. "But when you fall," she says softly, "you have to get back up."

Harry stares at her face for the longest moment, and Ginny stares back - a silent understanding passes between them, and they rise, hand in hand, until they're standing again, supporting each other. He looks down at her, she looks up at him, their gazes still locked.

And then it's another gasp and crushing her to his body and he's kissing her and she's kissing back and although their eyes are closed they can see their future stretched out for years in front of them, the road paved with scars ahead and behind - Ginny whispers, "I love you, I love you, I love you," into Harry's chest and his lips come crashing back down onto hers, saying I love you, I love you, I love you, and although she knows, he's sure she needs to hear the words: When they pull away for air, he holds her, iron strong, and into her hair he says, "I love you, I love you, I love you," and their kisses are oxygen now and they cling to each other like the other is the only thing keeping them alive -

And they are, they are, they are, and they _will_ hold on.


	12. it actually hurts

**The funny thing is, he doesn't even realize what he's doing to me on the inside and how much it actually hurts.**

Ginny doesn't like the cold.

Cold is penetrating and stabbing and biting and so the opposite of warm - warm like her mother's embrace, warm like the Burrow, warm like Harry. Cold pokes and prods and takes whatever opportunities it has to manipulate, mutilate.

Her first year is the definition of cold - with odd nightmares and stone chambers and reptilian touches; Tom Riddle is a winter, a harsh, unforgiving blizzard, ice stinging every fiber of your body, relentless and conquered by nothing, howling and lonely.

"Ginny?"

Hermione's voice is caked with sleep-induced grogginess, and also a bit of worry. Ginny looks over her shoulder from her seat in front of the window without a word.

"Ginny?" Hermione repeats.

"It's fine," says Ginny absently, staring out at the landscape. She listens for the usual crickets, but none sing. It's getting to her, this not-so-summery summer. All of it is getting to her.

There's a sigh heaved and springs creak as Hermione sits up. "This is the fourth time in a week you've still been up."

That you know of. She doesn't say it. "And yet you wake up every time."

The older girl has no response to this except to sigh again, this time with Just get it off your chest laced in the breath.

"It's Harry," mutters Ginny, as though Hermione doesn't already know. "He - I - we -" She stumbles around in the darkness for words, bumping into the ones she doesn't need and collapsing with much swearing. "He's... he's even more different. Not in a good way. He looks... he looks like he's... hopeless. Like he doesn't even care anymore." She presses her palm to the chill of the window. "About anything."

"That's not true!" protests Hermione, though she doesn't specify which one it is that's a lie. She bites her lip.

"You and I both know it is," Ginny says, still in that slightly detached way reminiscent of Luna. "He doesn't give a damn about you, or Ron, or anyone." Or me, she means.

Hermione sighs yet again. "Yes, he does," she says quietly. "You've no idea how much he cares."

Ginny only blinks and keeps looking out the window, thinking that if this is summer, it's an icy illusion. Summer is supposed to be full of laughter and happiness and hope and maybe even love - although she isn't sure about that last one, because in her perfect, little girl fantasy, love was never this complicated, this horribly, heart-breakingly cold and sharp; it was full of warm and fuzzy feelings in the pit of her stomach that are feather-soft compared to this knife.

"If he cared," she says, "he wouldn't have broken it off." Hermione makes a noise as if to interrupt, but she goes on, "If he cared, he'd at least talk to me. If he cared, he'd be more upset about it than he is."

"He cares!" insists Hermione, almost angrily this time. "He cares so much that he would die for you, Ginny!"

As much as Ginny knows it's true, it doesn't help. She doesn't want him to die for her if she would still be here without him.

"He barely talks to me," she says, "he barely looks at me, he can't stand to be in the same room as me."

"It's because -"

"Don't you dare say he cares, Hermione. He doesn't. He doesn't care."

She says it with so much conviction, a gaping hole of hollowness in the words, that Hermione doesn't say anything. She just lies back down and stares at the ceiling, all desire for sleep forgotten.

Several minutes later, the silence is broken. "The funny thing is," says Ginny, and the way her voice breaks makes Hermione sure it'll be anything but, "he doesn't even realize what he's doing to me on the inside and how much it actually _hurts_."

Ginny can barely breathe from the pain of it, this feeling of so closeness that's tearing throughout her veins like some sort of poison. She was so close to the Snitch - it was inches away - she only had to lean forward - but then it fumbled through her fingers, its wings just breaths against her hands, and an iron fist closed around it instead, shielding it from view, crumpling those beautiful wings like they're nothing more than air.

The horizon is just beginning to lighten and Ginny's back in her bed when Hermione repeats, "He cares."

Ginny knows. She just wishes caring doesn't have to be so painful.


	13. won't ever happen

**In life, you can't get caught up in wishing for something that won't ever happen.**

 _Beep. Beep. Beep_ , says the heart monitor.

Teddy's face is deathly pale under the sandy brown hair he automatically assumes when he's not awake. Bandages are wrapped heavily around his head; his chest rises and falls irregularly.

"Don't worry about him, Lil," Albus tells his sister quietly. "The Healers say he'll be fine."

Lily's been casting worried glances at Teddy all night from her father's bedside. The Healers might say he's "stable" and "going to make a full recovery", but she doesn't like the way they're popping in and out at regular intervals to check his condition. Each time they make a note on their clipboards, she half expects them to turn to her family and inform them that he can't recover, that something's gone wrong, that -

"Al's right, love," says Harry. He shifts a little to look at her and winces, one hand flying to his gauze-covered left leg. "Ted's strong, he'll pull through this. And when he wakes up, he'll be well enough to give you all the piggy-back rides you want."

Lily rolls her eyes. "I'm not seven anymore, Dad," she snaps, almost wanting to be able to force a smile. She immediately regrets it, and she sighs. "Sorry."

None of them speak. Al offers her a little nod; something in Harry's eyes seems warmer; Ginny gives her an understanding look; and James moves slightly in his sleep, head back and mouth agape.

Lily sinks more comfortably into the plush chair St. Mungo's always provides for these long visits, folds her arms across her chest, suddenly cold. Without hardly thinking about it, she lets her eyes slide shut. She can still see the expression on her mum's face as she looks at her husband, and involuntarily she feels the corners of her mouth lift.

"Bipolar, much?" Al mutters under his breath.

She opens her eyes so she can glare at him. "Shut up," but even she can hear the smile in her voice.

He smirks.

"You're welcome," Lily says, because of course he's about to be an idiot and say, Thank you for proving my point. When he looks annoyed, she sticks her tongue out at him. He turns away, and she knows she's won.

"What were you smiling about, anyway?" asks Ginny. She holds tight to Harry's hand; he looks like he might have fallen asleep again.

Lily shrugs. "Just you and Dad." Her mother grins almost sheepishly, but it's brief and it disappears as Lily continues after a pause: "I wish he wasn't an Auror."

Ginny nods, swallows. "Me, too."

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

"But," she says, "if there's anything I've learned, it's that in life, you can't get caught up in wishing for something that won't ever happen."

"Like James not playing Quidditch," supplies Al helpfully. "Or Uncle Charlie staying away from dragons. Or Dad -"

"- quitting his job," finishes James, and they start: He'd woken up so silently that they hadn't noticed (or they might have been too wrapped in their own thoughts). He yawns, rumpling his hair, and stretches.

"Exactly," says Ginny. "Besides" - and here she looks at her husband, a smile growing - "you'll sometimes find you can be surprised by the turnout." She runs a tender hand over the top of his head, caressing his cheek.

"Come on, Mum!" complains James, making a face. "I just woke up!" and Al averts his gaze, but Lily can tell they secretly don't mind. They never do.

Ginny leans down to kiss Harry. Lily looks away, too, and when she looks back, her dad is smiling in his sleep. Her mum's eyes are sparkling like they always are when she pulls away.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

It's steady and strong and sure and sounds like, "Teddy's going to be just fine."


	14. when you smile

**There're those days where as much as I want to ignore the feeling I get when you smile, I can't.**

When Ginny takes another step toward him, slips her hands around his neck, and kisses him, everything feels right.

The sun is shining and Bill is getting married and Ron and Hermione are becoming less blind by the day and Harry is with Ginny, and although he won't be here for long he's here, in her bedroom, and nothing else exists. His fingers are in her hair and hers are in his, and there's no awkwardness between them, no _nothing_ between them, nothing they're keeping secret, and it's like she knows so completely everything that he's thinking, she understands, and he knows that she knows -

Then the door bangs open and she doesn't know anything and it all seems so very wrong.

Because Harry's too selfish to let this go on - he's selfish, keeping her safe. Ginny's the whole reason he's fighting, if not for them for her and her future and her life and if he loses her - well, what has he got then?

As Ron more or less drags him out of the room, there are so many things Harry wants to say, wants to say so badly he almost says -

"I never meant to end it. I don't - I don't want to leave you. But I - I have to. You're giving me the strength to - and really, do you know how much I hate that - that way you make me feel? I can't make that go away, it's not that easy, it's so complicated - all of it is, all of it's complicated, and - and I almost wish we never got together, but I don't at the same time, and it hurts. There're those days where as much as I want to ignore the feeling I get when you smile, I can't, and that makes this so much harder than it needs to be and - and - and I love you, I do, just - I couldn't take it if - if you - well, I need you."

But he's always been pretty quiet.

So he walks away.


	15. who made her that way

**Behind every girl is a guy who made her that way.**

"Just a little bit closer, and - HE'S GOT IT! DAWSON'S GOT THE SNITCH! ENGLAND WINS THE WORLD CUP! For the first time in thirty-nine years, England has won the Quidditch World Cup!"

Harry's the first one out onto the pitch, jumping steps here and there on the staircase that leads down from the Weasleys' reserved box. His ears are ringing from the cheers of thousands of fans, and he swears he can hear the rest of magical England celebrating even from all the way in Madrid.

England's team, clad in robes of deep blue, has landed, cheering and hugging each other, hoisting Dawson up on their shoulders. They turn him around in a circle for the stadium to see, and as the team rotates, Harry catches a glimpse of bright red hair.

His grin nearly splitting his face, he runs over, spins Ginny to face him, and kisses her. She returns it for but a moment before gently placing her hands on his chest, pushing him away and then tackling him in a hug.

"We won!" she screams over the roar of the crowd, as though he hasn't been watching for the past four-and-a-half hours. "We did it!"

"You were brilliant!" Harry shouts, and she flushes. "That Porskoff Ploy? Genius!"

"It wasn't my idea," says Ginny modestly.

He rolls his eyes, watching with a little apprehension as the crowd makes their own way down from the stands. "And you call me humble," he says.

She flashes him a brief smile, starting to push through the mob of people. She catches onto Harry's hand, makes sure he's still there, never lets go. He almost wants to be the one leading - but this is her night, her time to shine. She's strong enough, he knows it.

In no time the players are surrounded by reporters in a room off one part of the stadium. It's not the real press conference, just a few "right after the match" questions. Even so, there's a platform set up, and only when Ginny drags him up with her does Harry realize how bright the lights are.

Immediately, the room is full of shouts of, "Miss Weasley!" "Ginny!" "Weasley! Hey, over here!" and of course clamor for the other members of the team, but it's mostly Ginny. It's not every day a war hero makes it to the World Cup in her second year as a starting Chaser.

Finally, one yells above the others, "Ginny, are you and Harry planning on getting married?"

"I'm not answering that," says Ginny. Harry notices her hands clench and unclench, and he grins, thinking of the ring concealed under her glove.

The reporter shoots her a nasty look and ducks away.

"Miss Weasley," shouts another. He seems nice enough, so Ginny points at him. Mopping his sweating brow, he says, "Lane Moor, Quidditch Weekly. How do you think you got this far?"

"We played hard," says Ginny. "We all practiced and we gave our best ef -"

"No, no, you misunderstood me," says Moor. "I meant you as in you, as in an individual. How do you think you got this far?"

She looks taken aback for a moment. Recovering quickly, "Er, well, I dunno, really. My mum always told me to follow my dreams - and here I am."

"When you say 'follow your dreams,'" says Moor slyly, interrupting her search for another question, "are you only referring to your career aspirations?"

Ginny glances over her shoulder to share a smile with Harry. "You know what they say." She takes his hand. "Behind every girl is a guy who made her that way."

Beaming, heart pounding, Harry kisses her again. There's something like victory on her lips, something that makes him think of Quidditch at Hogwarts and what happened after a match he hadn't been able to play in; makes him think of quiet moments and secluded corners and windswept hair and sunlit days and heartbreak and how much he loves her.

In the back of his mind, Harry dimly registers that this is going to make tomorrow's Daily Prophet, right next to the pictures of the team - but he doesn't really care.

He wants the world to know.


	16. it's an art

**Gossip isn't a sin. It's an art.**

"James," Lily says seriously over breakfast, "I heard you and Alice are going out now."

Ginny turns to the counter to hide her smile.

"Maybe," comes James' voice evasively, "maybe not. So?"

"'So?'" repeats his sister. "So, the whole world and the next one knows that you two have liked each other for your entire lives."

"Only since second year," corrects James.

"I want details!"

"Shut up."

When Ginny looks back, James is still quite red in the face. She struggles not to laugh as Harry catches her gaze.

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear," James says.

"Is it true or isn't it?" says Lily, slamming her hand down onto the table, nearly upsetting her mother's cup of tea.

 _"Lily."_

"Sorry, Mum." Then, back to her brother, drawing it out: _"Jamie..."_

He sighs. "Yeah, we're together. Happy now?"

"Very." And indeed, Lily's grin is a mile wide.

They hear footsteps on the stairs; a moment later, Albus enters. He yawns, scratches the back of his head. "What's new?" he says drowsily, peering at them through bleary eyes.

"James and Alice are finally together," says Lily, so fast James hasn't even opened his mouth.

Al raises his eyebrows as his eyelids slide half-closed again. "Are they?" he says, and collapses into a chair. "I heard you had a good time in your dorm -"

"What?" says Ginny sharply. Harry fixes his eldest with a mild glare.

Unshaken, James rolls his eyes. "Relax," he says. "He's exaggerating. We just - might have snogged in an empty classroom. Again."

"Oh, yeah," says Al, "I almost forgot about that. Talk about drama."

"Mm-hm," Lily interjects dryly. "Like you didn't have any drama. Does 'Eliza Drew' ring any bells?"

Al blushes. "Who said anything about Eliza Drew?"

"Roxy did."

 _"Damn it."_

"Al."

"Sorry, Mum. Anyway, how'd she find out?"

"She saw you two on your _date_ in Hogsmeade," says Lily. Her eyes are glittering with mirth.

Al ignores the expression on her face and stabs a bit of egg with his fork. Rather than eating it, he stares at it with annoyance. "I hate Roxy sometimes."

"Love to hate her, you mean," agrees James. "She's such a gossip."

"I know!" says Lily.

At the exact same time, her entire family looks over at her, each with a single eyebrow arched. The effect is striking and - if she's honest - slightly creepy.

"You're not serious, are you?" James says.

"You're the biggest gossip we've ever met," says Al.

"You really are," says Harry. "Ow!" as his daughter smacks him.

"Dad!"

But he goes on, "Even bigger than your mum was, and that's saying something. OUCH!" Rubbing the side of his head, "What was that for?"

"For being a git," says Ginny forcefully. "I was not a gossip!"

"What part of 'Romilda Vane says you've got a hippogriff tattooed across your chest' doesn't scream 'gossip'? Ow! Stop hitting me!"

The kids are stifling their laughter and Ginny's trying for a glare. "Not until you say I wasn't a gossip," she says.

"Of course you were! You gossiped so much it was almost a sin."

Now both mother and daughter look insulted.

"Gossip isn't a _sin_!" says Lily, affronted.

"It's an art," says Ginny. They share identical smiles.

"Ha!" says Harry victoriously. "You're defending it! You were a gossip!"

His wife raises her hand and he winces, putting his arms up in front of his face in defense. He lowers them a moment later to find her chuckling.

"Such a baby," she teases, and he folds his arms over his chest.

Al leans over to mutter to James, "If that's what marriage is, you should break up with Alice now. Ow!"

"Shut up," hisses his brother, bright red again.

"My head hurts," Harry says, practically whines. "There's going to be a bruise."

Finally, Ginny does laugh and walks over to him, kisses his temple. "There," she says. "All better now, Mr. Big Tough Auror Man?"

"Much," says Harry, and before she can straighten back up, he catches her lips in a kiss. It's shorter than he'd like it to be, but he really is running late now, so he stands, grabs a piece of toast from the center of the table, and dashes out of the kitchen into the sitting room, where he can Dispparate. "Love you," he calls as he exits.

"Love you, too," says Ginny. Something like a smirk is playing on her lips, and she's looking after Harry long after he's gone.

Al looks over at James again. "I'm serious. Get out while you can." A second later, in a rush, _"Damn-it-that-bloody-hurts!"_

This snaps Ginny out of her stupor: She whirls around and says, "Al, watch your mouth. James, stop hitting him."

"I will if you will," mutters James under his breath; out loud he says, "Sorry, Mum."

And Al: "Sorry, Mum."

A moment of silence -

"A hippogriff tattoo?" Lily shakes her head as though she's disappointed. "My family is weird."

Both of her brothers groan together, "Don't even get me started!"

Ginny watches them and thinks that if the rumors say her kids are a little imbalanced - who's to say they're _completely_ wrong?


	17. nothing can break this feeling

**Nothing can break this feeling.**

A cry pierces the stillness.

"I'll get her," Harry and Ginny say at the same time. They look at each other, sigh, and both get up. Ginny leans her head on Harry's shoulder as they walk across the hall to the nursery.

It seems, however, that someone's already beat them to it.

Teddy stands over his god-sister, awe spelled all over his features. Lily wails and screams, but Teddy remains perfectly still as though frozen, much more mature than the average ten-year-old. Unconsciously, he reaches a hand down to Lily's flailing ones.

"Teddy."

Harry speaks softly, but there's enough of a warning underneath it to make Teddy withdraw his arm. He looks sheepishly over at his godfather.

"Sorry," he whispers.

Harry nods once, smiles a little watching Ginny cross the room and lift her newborn daughter into her arms. She rocks Lily gently, murmuring soothing words into the tuft of red hair on top of her head. Ginny's eyes, though tired, shine with happiness.

"Daddy?" says another voice.

He turns. A short figure is silhouetted in the doorway, and the way it has one hand on the frame to steady itself makes Harry know it's Albus. Albus - always careful, always tentative in whatever he does. Even when addressing his father, he's unsure of himself, of what he's saying.

"Al," Harry hears himself say in surprise. "What are you doing awake?"

Al totters over on shaky legs. Before he has a chance to fall and hurt himself (and start crying), Harry sweeps him up, pulls him tight against his chest.

"You should be in bed," he says quietly, trying to scold, but Al yawns so widely it stretches his whole face, and Harry can't help but grin.

Lily still hasn't completely calmed down. Trade you, he mouths to Ginny; without a word she holds Lily out to him. He settles Al against her shoulder and takes Lily, cradling her head, half-fearing she might shatter if he drops her.

For a few moments, she continues to wail; and then, almost suddenly, she stops. She opens her eyes and blinks up at him, her mouth slightly open - and although every baby book he's ever read says it can't happen, Harry can swear Lily smiles. He can already tell her eyes are going to be her mother's brown; he doesn't need the hint in her still-dark blue irises, he knows.

Within seconds, Lily has fallen asleep again. Ginny presses her face into Harry's chest. " _God_ , I love you," she mumbles.

There are faint, muffled thumps and Teddy says, "James!"

Ever the troublemaker, James has latched himself around one of Teddy's legs. He grins proudly, a little stupidly.

"James, you little bugger," says Harry. He frowns. "Why is everyone suddenly awake?"

Ginny shrugs tiredly. "Because of Lily," she says, and as if on cue, she leans over to look at her daughter. Al, clinging to his mum's neck, stretches out a small hand and touches Lily's fingers, impossibly gentle.

Teddy's managed to get James off; looking worn, he leads him over to the rest of his family, where Ginny picks him up.

"What'd you promise him?" asks Harry, instantly weary.

"Biscuits for breakfast," Teddy mutters. "Don't mention it, he'll just think it was a dream. Or at least, we can convince him."

Harry claps him on the back. "Good work, Ted."

And then it's quiet.

Quiet, except for their breathing.

The only source of light is the abnormally bright moon outside the single window. They stand in front of it, the six of them, and for Harry, nothing else exists. The whole universe is this room and Ginny leaning into him and the comforting weight of Lily's body in his arms and Teddy watching his god-brothers and Al starting to nod back off and James with his finger in his mouth and -

And Harry's heart is so full of love that it tugs in his chest, both dragging him down and lifting him up, and he almost chokes on the emotion building up inside him, but this is his family and they're complete - for now, they're complete - and they're here, they're together, and they are the air in his lungs and the blood in his veins and he doesn't choke, he _lives_.

Harry brushes his lips against Lily's forehead, Al's and James', too; he'd like to do it to Teddy the way he used to when Teddy was a baby, but he knows Teddy'll just be embarrassed, no matter how tender the moment is. Then, just because he can, he kisses Ginny, feeling all his love for her pounding through him and he tries to tell her without words and she understands and she returns that love with so much force he feels lightheaded and it's all perfect.

This is his family, they're complete, he loves them, and they're perfect.

And _nothing_ can break this feeling.


End file.
